


It's Too Early to be Awake

by Kuesuno



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Reader Insert, and thus steve will pay the price for trying to wake them, reader is not an easy waker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6043954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuesuno/pseuds/Kuesuno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't like being woken up and it doesn't matter who it is or what their good intentions may be. Steve is no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Too Early to be Awake

You don’t like the sun.  


In fact, if you didn’t know that the big ball of burning gas was necessary for the survival of all organic life, you would wish it gone. Your dislike of the sun likely stems from your even stronger dislike of being woken up. You don’t remember ever being a morning person; even when you were little you tended to pitch fits anytime your parents came to wake you up before your body was willing. As an adult you were happy to say that you were the only person who could now wake you up. So then why then did you feel a pressure on your shoulder that was gently shaking you into wakefulness?  


You can hear a voice that sounds like it’s saying your name through your haze of sleep. It gets clearer as it goes on, “Hey, wakey wakey.”  


Of course, that’s right, you had let Bucky and Steve crash at your house the night before. Another unsuccessful night out on the town for Steve. Bucky had evidently had fun and they informed you at some point the two had dropped their dates so that Bucky could take Steve to a bar. Your house was closer to the bar than either Steve’s or Bucky’s. You were grateful for Bucky’s judgement in that, because you’re certain that if had been any other cat they would have taken both girls and left Steve to pick up the pieces of his night alone. Bucky was a gent and a good friend and you were glad that Steve had someone in his life like that.  


Blindly you swat at the hand near your shoulder and your brows pull down as you stubbornly keep your eyes sealed shut. Despite the obvious lethargy that coats your every syllable you manage to make the warning in your tone clear, “ _Steve_.”  


“Come on, it’s morning”, he urges.  


You groan and it takes you a second to piece together a coherent train of thought long enough to filter it through your mouth, “Is Bucky up yet?” God, your tongue feels like cotton.  


“Well… no”, you can almost visualize the way Steve is probably rubbing his neck, “but I was gonna go wake him up next.”  


Finally you crack one eye open to look at the frail man before you. You’ve known both him and Bucky for the better part of ten years. You grew up together, went to art school together, and even now you all stay tightly connected. _He knows you don’t like being woken up_. Your stare manages to catch his attention and he holds your gaze for a moment.  


“Wha-AH”, whatever Steve was about to ask is interrupted as your hand lashes out and snatches his wrist; yanking him forward.  


You easily topple his balance and pull him into your bed. Not very ladylike, you know. If any of your girl friends saw you do something so bold they’d gasp and chitter and you’d flush. But they aren’t here right now and you’re tired and you don’t have work today. You scoot back to make more room for Steve; it’s not particularly hard considering how small he is. He’s warm and you can hear his mouth opening and shutting a few times before he finally manages to squeak some words out.  


“W-what are you doing?”  


“Go back to sleep”, you drone out.  


“Come on, it’s time to wake up”, you can hear the embarrassment in his voice. Even after so many years he still has a ridiculously hard time talking to girls and occasionally you find that you are not an exception to that. “I-it’s almost nine.”  


If you were up and your eyes were open you would have rolled them, as it was you kept your exasperation to yourself. Instead you resorted to pleading, “ _Please_ Steve. I just want a little more sleep. We can get up in a bit. Please.” You realize your hand is still around his wrist and you pull away as though the limb were on fire. You don’t have much energy to be embarrassed, but the feeling still seeps into your stomach.  


For a long time it’s quiet as Steve considers what you’ve asked of him. The silence and the warmth of his frame is lulling you to sleep again. Not that you were ever fully awake. Just as you’re on the brink of full immersion into your own brain you feel the bed shift and hear Steve moving about. A small smile takes your face in triumph and you listen to his uneven breathing. The air shifts almost unnoticeable and you very carefully don’t move as you feel Steve’s hand slowly, agonizingly slow, moves to rest against your waist. His touch is hesitant and he twitches his hand back more than once before he finally allows it to lay there limply.  


You open your eyes just enough to peer at him through your lashes. You almost smile at the way his eyes are wide and locked on his hand at your waist, as though he can’t believe he just did that or maybe he’s still considering jerking the appendage back and keeping to himself. He looks so off in his own world and you have to agree. It’s like you’ve created a small bubble of peace here. His warmth so close and connected to you by the tentative pressure against your side. You’re sure were you more coherent your heart would be pounding out of your chest. You’ve had a crush on Steven Grant Rogers since you were a little girl. He was, is, a thin, sickly man. He doesn’t have much to offer physically, but then you didn’t fall for him because of his looks. You fell for him because he was kind, strong-willed, passionate, adorably awkward, and intelligent. It didn’t matter to him if he couldn’t possibly put up a fight against some jerk twice his size; he’d still stand in front of you and protect you with everything he had.  
As you studied his face you backtracked in your own thoughts; well maybe you did fall for him _a little_ due to his appearance. There’s not a person in the world who could convince you that Steve doesn’t have the most gorgeous eyes you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.  


You could feel sleep weigh heavy on the edge of your senses; only having fought it for so long because you wanted to appreciate this closeness with the man of your affections. Those baby blues at some point had left the hand now comfortably rested on your waist and were gazing back at you. When you finally noticed you quirked a sleepy smile and closed your eyes. Your body relaxed against the mattress and as you drifted off your mouth opened.  


“I love you, Steve”, you muttered. You’d have to deal with your traitorous body and the words it had let out when you woke up. For the time being you weren’t really coherent enough to notice the way Steve stiffened, nor to really hear him when he responded.  


“Yeah, love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ah so this is the first story I'm posting to AO3, wow! I hope it goes well. I might end up post some of my other ficlets like this one if this is well-received.  
> Anywho, I'm a huge sucker for tiny, pre-serum Steve. Just imaging this sweet, heart-of-gold guy trying so hard to talk to girls and utterly falling flat just makes me all smiley. I think it's almost impossible that some girl (or guy) wouldn't have been swept off their feet by Steve's glowing personality. Though I suppose to be fair this is the 1930's and their values on being a man's man were a lot less tolerant I'm sure. Oh well, I've got enough love for tiny Steve to reach back in time just you watch.


End file.
